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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431976">Damn Cold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick'>Impala_Chick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Band of Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e06 Bastogne, Huddling For Warmth, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:54:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Webster had been with Easy in Bastogne, he would have needed a foxhole to take cover in. </p><p>Liebgott ends up making room for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Damn Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the prompt <i>Forced bed-sharing/forced foxhole-sharing leads to something more.</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of artillery is distant now, but it’s only getting closer. Joe shudders and curls into himself, pressing his shoulder up against the dirt of the foxhole. There’s nowhere else to go. Joe’s best bet is to get down as low as he can and hope like hell he gets lucky. It’s worked every time before. </p><p>He hears footfalls squelching through the wet snow and dares to look. He swivels his head as the landscape is lit up in a bright flash of orange and red. All he sees is brown paratrooper boots, but that’s good enough for him. He sticks his arm up out of the hole and grabs at whoever is dumb enough to not have found a foxhole already.</p><p>The man tumbles into the hole with a punched out groan, and Joe instantly recognizes him.</p><p>“Jesus Christ Web, you look like hell.”</p><p>“Really astute observation, asshole,” Web gripes as he sinks down further into the hole. He tries to stretch his legs out but there isn’t quite enough room, so he just pushes his knees out to the side and leans awkwardly against Joe.</p><p>Joe would grumble about it, but another round explodes somewhere extremely close. Joe shuts up for a tense minute, waiting for the next one. </p><p>It doesn’t come, but it takes Joe’s body awhile to realize that. He relaxes in turns. First his toes uncurl in his boots, and then his shoulders drop down from where they’d been hugging his ears. His heart beat is the last thing to return to normal. </p><p>He can feel Web breathing harshly against him as he pushes up against Joe’s side. Joe halfheartedly elbows him a little, just because it feels weird to be so close to him. He knows there's barely room for the both of them, and he would never kick Web out, but it’s the principle of the thing.</p><p>“Sorry,” Web mumbles.  “But it’s fucking cold.”</p><p>“Yeah, but don’t be a little bitch about it,” Joe chides. </p><p>They sit side by side in silence for a while after that. Joe watches his breath unfurl in front of his face like small white clouds. His whole right side feels warm from Web’s body, and there’s a strange tingling just underneath the surface of his skin. The silence is ringing in his ears, making him fidgety.</p><p>“God, this is fucking miserable. It’s like we are waiting to die,” Joe grumbles.</p><p>“Don’t be a bitch about it,” Web parrots back at him.</p><p>“You didn’t have to take cover in my foxhole,” Joe says, elbowing Web again. Harder this time.</p><p>Web leans over a bit in mock pain and then fixes a stony faced glare at him.</p><p>“There wasn’t much choice. Everyone was already under cover, I couldn’t see anywhere to go,” Web explains.</p><p>“Why were you just walking around, anyway? You shouldn’t wander around by yourself.” Joe knows he sounds like a mother hen or something, but it’s true. Web should follow the fucking rules and keep close to a foxhole.</p><p>“I had to piss, alright? I’m not going to piss in a foxhole.”</p><p>Joe mumbles his agreement, and then blows into his hands to try and warm them up. He shivers involuntarily. Webster reaches up and takes hold of both his hands.</p><p>“What the fuck,” Joe says, but he doesn’t pull away.</p><p>“Just shut up and let me help.” Web rubs his hands vigorously against Joe’s and the color starts to return to his pale frigid skin. He likes the way Web is concentrating on his task, with his brow furrowed and his bottom lip between his teeth.</p><p>“Thanks,” Joe mumbles eventually. </p><p>Web smiles and ducks his head a little. Joe can’t help but stare at his long lashes and the way the freckles stand out on his nose.</p><p>Joe’s lips are cracked and dry from the cold wind, and he feels like he’s caked in dirt and blood. He hasn’t had a shower in weeks. But it’s not that hard to imagine closing the distance between them and pressing his lips against Web’s. </p><p>He pictures Web moaning softly into the kiss, deepening it. He pretends to feel Web’s warmth seeping into his skin, fortifying him. He wonders if Web would act boldly and take Joe in hand. Or maybe he’d be shy about the whole thing, and just press his palm to Joe’s cheek.</p><p>“What is it?” Web asks softly. “What are you thinking about?”</p><p>Joe snaps his eyes up to Web’s. He’s been caught daydreaming. </p><p>“Someplace warm,” Joe lies. “I don’t even think I remember what the sun feels like.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Web agrees wistfully. “Someplace warm would be nice.”</p><p>“There are other ways to keep warm,” Joe says casually. Web is still holding his hands, although he’s stopped moving them.</p><p>“Oh?” Web says, one eyebrow raised innocently. </p><p>Joe grabs Web’s thigh and squeezes, hoping to make his intentions clear. The way he sees it, either Web slaps his hand away and laughs, or he lets Joe keep it were it is. And either outcome is acceptable, but Joe knows which one he’s hoping for.</p><p>Web looks down at Joe’s hand a little wide-eyed. </p><p>There’s a tense moment where neither of them move. And then Web takes a deep breath and reaches his hand up to put it behind Joe’s neck and rest it on his shoulder.</p><p>“Just to keep warm,” Joe mutters, letting Web pull him in closer.</p><p>“Because it’s damn cold,” Web says, his grip tight on Joe’s shoulder and his face tucked under Joe’s chin.</p><p>“Damn cold,” Joe agrees, his nose in Web’s curly hair. </p><p>He smells like dirt and sweat and smoke, but Joe doesn’t even mind because Web’s breath is warming Joe’s neck.</p><p>Joe tenses when he hears a distant artillery round, but Web doesn’t move. </p><p>They stay like that for a while afterwards, pressed against each other. This time, Joe concentrates on the sound of Web's even breathes. </p><p>"It's okay, Lieb," Web says softly.</p><p>Joe would have groused at him for saying something so completely untrue, except he likes the way Web's chest rumbles when he talks. Joe drifts off to sleep like that, counting Web's breathes and holding his thigh.</p>
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